A Box of Letters
by Arallute
Summary: This fanfic is epistolary: short stories told in letter form. Some time after TFA, Leia finds a box of letters, most of which are years old, a few more recent. (Just in case Leia isn't depressed enough after TFA, she can re-read old letters to make herself feel even worse.) If you have any ideas for topics, please review or PM me! I'm open to suggestions.
1. Leia to Han, 3 ABY

Somewhere above Sullust

03:54

Dear Han,

I have nowhere to send this letter, so I guess I'll just write it, hold onto it, and hope against hope that I'll be able to give it to you someday. Someday soon.

Or maybe I'll just write it, then burn it. I'm sitting here in my quarters aboard Home One with a scented candle on my desk. I lit the candle to calm myself, but it's coming in very handy as a way of getting out my frustration. The first four drafts of this letter have already been burnt to cinders. I'm having some trouble expressing myself. But that has always been my problem with you, hasn't it?

So, to get you up to speed: Lando finally grew a conscience and double-crossed Vader, which surprised me more than it probably will surprise you. As soon as we were away from the stormtroopers, Chewie and I ran like hell to get to Boba Fett's ship, but it lifted off just before we got to the platform. I watched you fly away and felt my heart burst. Then I nearly got shot in the back, because I wasn't paying attention to what was behind me. You always watch my back for me. I could almost feel your hand on my arm, pulling me out of danger. Almost. I'm not very good at getting myself out of danger anymore. I'm too used to you doing it for me; you spoiled me.

You promised me that nothing bad would happen on Cloud City, and except for the obvious stuff that you went through, you kept your promise. I got away, with Chewie and Luke in tow, and am now safe and sound with the fleet. More safe than sound, really. I feel…unmoored. The fleet has been flying around aimlessly, trying to avoid inhabited systems and Imperial patrols, and I feel similarly aimless without you.

Soon after we first met, I was complaining to Luke about you, some argument we'd had, and Luke told me to be glad that you fought with me. Glad. I was so numb after Alderaan's destruction, and Luke's theory was that you were trying to provoke me, to get a reaction from me, to make me _feel_ again. I didn't understand his idea at the time, but I do now. You gave me focus. Now, nothing matters to me. Nothing upsets me nor makes me laugh. Rebellion defeats, new systems joining the Alliance, food shortages, Luke's jokes—I really don't care very much about any of it. I need you here. I need you to argue with me, flirt with me, roll your eyes at me, wink at me conspiratorially, call me one of those nicknames that make my blood boil. Or kiss me. That also makes my blood boil, in an entirely different way.

Remember on Hoth, you complained that all I ever thought about was the Rebellion, that I was as cold as the planet and that I needed a good kiss? Every time I think about that now, I smile. Truer words were never spoken. I wonder if you had actually thought that theory through, or if you were just saying whatever popped into your mind. How do you know me so well? Nobody else has ever said I was easy to read, much less transparent. But you look at me sometimes, and I feel absolutely exposed. It used to bother me so much. I don't mind it now, though; it's nice to be understood. And it's nice to feel beautiful and naked and open, which is how I feel when you stare at me.

On Corellia, did you ever hear that fairy tale about the princess who sleeps for years until she is awoken by a kiss? I never liked those sorts of fairy tales when I was little—I didn't want to be _that_ kind of princess. I was horrified by the thought of having to wait for some man to bring me to life. You know that I kind of prefer being in charge of things. And yet, Han, you really did awaken something in me. But nobody ever told me the sequel to that fairy tale—the part where the handsome captain, having kissed the princess, gets captured by the bad guys and leaves her all alone. Bereft. I wasn't sleeping when I met you, but I sure would like to be now. I long for sleep now.

I can't sleep anymore. My nightmares are just as bad as last year, except now I've got nightmares about you, too. You screaming from torture, you being put into that carbon freezing chamber, you frozen and lost, floating through space. And if I'm not having nightmares, I have other dreams about us—laughing, teasing, running through forests, even dreams in which we just talk or eat together. And then there's the _other_ sort of dreams, the kind with us horizontal and wrapped up in each other. Whatever dream it is, it wakes me up. I stretch my hands out to feel for you in the dark, until I finally realize you're not there. I miss your arms so badly. I told you that your arms were my favorite part of your body, right? They wrap around me and make me safer than I've ever felt in my life. I can't sleep without you and your arms.

So since I can't sleep, I've taken to writing you letters. I burn more than I finish, but I think I'll keep this one. And I'll put it aside for you, with the others, all these thoughts that I was too stubbornly stupid to share with you before. We had three years together, and I wasted so much of it. I never told you anything important, I never opened myself up to you like I should have. You called me brave once—the brave little princess who took on the whole Empire, remember?—but I've been such a coward with you. So this letter writing, I guess, is my way of articulating my feelings. The next step is say them aloud to your face.

I think about you constantly. I hunger for you. I crave you. I cherish you. And I am coming to rescue you, whatever it takes. Please hold on, wherever you are, however you can, just a little longer.

All my love,

Leia


	2. Leia to Anakin, 4 ABY

Anakin,

Luke suggested I try writing you a letter. You're too dead to read it, but he thought it'd be good for me to get my emotions into some sort of coherent form. It's not too easy, though. I can't even decide what to call you. Father? I have a father already. Had. You killed him, you might recall. You may have 'fathered' me, but that's where the intimacy between us ended. Luke refers to you that way, but…well, we disagree.

When you were alive, I called you Vader, Lord Vader, Darth Vader. But I suppose you renounced that name, that part of you, just before you died. You loved Luke more than you loved the Sith in yourself. You didn't renounce evil for _me_. Just for Luke. You didn't mind my pain. Still, given your noble conduct towards my brother in the end, I guess Vader is now an inappropriate moniker.

So that leaves Anakin, the name your parents gave you. Did you grow up cherished by your parents? Did they call you 'Anakin' with love in their voices, or were they cold and distant? I can't imagine you as a child, can't even imagine you as a young man without the mask. I hope you resembled Luke rather than me. I hope your eyes were blue, not brown like mine. I don't like the idea of having that much in common with you, especially not my eyes. Han loves my eyes, and the thought of him looking into eyes that reflect _your_ soul…is troubling to me. Whatever you looked like, though, the name is Anakin is yours, and I'll try to think of you that way. It's a good name, strong but not angry. That name doesn't make me tremble in fright like Vader does.

Luke says I should let go of my anger at you, otherwise it'll just eat me up inside. I should, he says, try to imagine how terrible the last twenty years have been for you, and forgive you, understanding that you didn't know I was your daughter and that you would have never hurt me if you had known the truth. I'm not convinced of that, though. Do you remember what you told me when you tortured me on the Death Star? I may have been drugged, but I remember. I remember our torture sessions very well. Even if I had a sketchy memory of those days, whole conversations still come back to me regularly in the form of nightmares. You posed as my father—Bail, I mean—or as a friend of my father. You kept wheedling me to trust you with all the Alliance's secrets. _Your father needs to know where the base is. You want to please your father, don't you, Leia? He's in danger. You have to tell him. Tell me. I need to get back to the Rebel base. Help me._ I remember how confused I was at the time—was I talking to my father? To his best friend? To an enemy?

As it turns out, maybe I was talking to all of the above. Were you my father's friend? You knew Bail, didn't you, when you were still Anakin the Jedi? He knew all the Jedi masters. He used to tell me stories about them. He was good friends with General Kenobi, and you were his apprentice, so Bail must have known you as well. Did you come to our home on Alderaan? Did you know my mother the Queen? My parents loved inviting friends to the palace, loved long, passionate dinner conversations that lasted into the night. Did you come to Alderaan and share a meal with my parents?

I can't let go of my anger for you yet. Maybe in a few years, with some distance. But for now, the knowledge that you're a part of me just drives me crazy. When I first found out, I wanted to crawl out of own skin. I cataloged every negative thought I'd ever had, every sentence I said in anger, every mean-spirited comment or act, and saw them all through the lens of you. I've always been angry, and I suddenly understood why. My parents, charitably, called me 'strong-willed.' My aunts preferred the term 'temperamental.' Lots of Rebels think I'm just an icy bitch. And maybe I'm all of those things. But now I know where that anger comes from. I was born with it, wasn't I? I'm like you.

I hate that about myself.

When I found out, I wanted to run away from Han. Break up with him. How could he possibly love me if he knew what I was? I don't love myself. I have faith in some of my abilities, to lead people or give a good speech, but I can't love my spirit anymore. It's got this terrible black core. It took me days to work up the courage to tell Han who my birth father was and to prepare myself emotionally for his impending blowup…which never came. He said he didn't _care,_ can you believe that? He said he hadn't developed respect for me because my parents were royals, so he wasn't about to stop respecting me just because they weren't. He doesn't care who my parents are. He's the only person I've ever met who has said that and meant it.

Han loves me more than I love myself.

And yet even he sometimes thinks of me as Vader's daughter, even though he'd vehemently deny that. I was arguing with him yesterday, and we went too far. We throw barbs back and forth at each other all the time, but usually refrain from hurting each other with words. I was really upset yesterday—at _you,_ actually, not at him, but he was around and you weren't, so I yelled at him. And he said, "Sometimes you act just like…." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. He apologized, explaining he was going to say, "a spoiled princess brat." I don't think that's what he was going to say. He was so sorry afterwards. He held me, and kissed me, for hours. Kept telling me how much he loved me. Overcompensating for something, don't you think?

I don't blame him, though. I was sad, not angry. Han's right, I do sometimes act just like you. Anyway, I woke up miserable this morning, and Luke suggested that my preoccupation with you was damaging my relationship with Han. So Luke recommended writing this letter. It's not helping me much, though. Now instead of furious, I'm just melancholy.

On Bakura, you appeared as a ghost to me to ask my forgiveness. Why do you want me to forgive you? You didn't explain why. You didn't even apologize to me, not really. You can't just give a blanket "Sorry for everything." Not when your crimes are so enormous. Maybe I should forgive you for just one thing: I could try taking one sin at a time. A heartfelt apology from you would help me start, though. I think you should go first.

I've been thinking about what I wished you had said to me on Bakura, and I think I'd like an explanation, starting with why you turned on everyone and joined Palpatine. Did you not love my mother? And Luke and me, you knew about our existence. Why weren't we enough for you? Did you really need the dark side more than your own family? How could submission to Palpatine's will possibly have been so attractive to you?

Maybe Luke was right about this letter-writing. I still hate you, I haven't forgiven you at all, and I wish I couldn't feel your blood in my veins. But at least now I know which questions I'd like to ask you. If your blue-hued self comes back to visit me again, I'll just pull out this letter and read to you. Until then, I'm happy to keep some distance from you, both physical and metaphysical.

Leia


	3. Rey to Han and Leia, 16 ABY

_**This part isn't canon, but it's not out of the realm of possibility, either. I assume that Rey (aka Breha) is Han and Leia's daughter. She was abducted from them at age four or five and dumped on Jakku; John Williams wrote a piece for TFA entitled 'The Abduction,' so that detail, anyway, is canon.**_

 _ **But the kidnappers didn't leave her on Jakku right away. Snoke wanted to wreck the Solo family, so holding their daughter made sense. Rey was with her captors long enough to begin empathizing with them, so that when they abandoned her, she shrieked at them to "come back."**_

 _ **(If you'd like an expanded version of this theory, I wrote two stories about it: "Storytime with Master Luke" and the much-shorter "Musings, by Rey." Please enjoy.)**_

 _ **Perhaps, after being abducted, the First Order baddies let the little girl write a letter home. If they were trying to ransom her, or just drive Han and Leia out of their minds with grief and impotent fury, this would be the way to do it.**_

 _ **Please excuse Rey's spelling mistakes. She's precocious and she's had good schooling, but she's not quite five yet.**_

* * *

Dear, Mommy and Daddy,

I love you and I want to come home. Please, please find me. the 1st order soljurs put me in a sell. Its not very nice here but its not toooo bad. I'm on a very big ship but I don't know where its going. they sayed they tooked me becase you are bad peeple, but I know that isn't tru. I'm being very brayve and don't cry in front of them becase I am a princess and princesss are strong.

When the soljurs came into the house, Chewie got hurt. I think he was shot. but Daddy, you shoudn't be mad at Chewie becase he tried very hard to protect me. Like he always does.

They sayed I could write to you if I was a good girl, wich I am. and also they sayed I can come home when Daddy stops being a genral and Mommy stops working in the goverment but I don't know what you woud do if that werent your job. I don't think they know you very well. but I do know you and I know youll come find me.

Please come soon and please tell Ben I'm sorry I steped on his foot last week and made him showt at me. it was nawty of me to step on his foot just becase I was in a bad mood. I wont do it ever again if I can come home and I will be the best sister ever. Also the best dawter ever.

LOVE

Breha Solo


	4. Han to Leia, 5 ABY

Galactic City, Coruscant

23:45

Hi, Sweetheart.

I've been staring at you now for an hour, maybe more. I'm bursting with things to tell you. But you're finally asleep, and there's no way I'd wake you up after what you just went through. One of the doctors here in the medcenter brought me some paper and suggested I just write you a letter. Sure, why not? I can be old-fashioned when I want to.

First off, our baby. He's breathtaking. He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life, a title you used to hold, but really, even you look almost ordinary in comparison. He's got the most perfect little face. Your dark eyes and long eyelashes, your full mouth, a strong little nose. His ears kind of stick out; I don't know where that comes from. Let's blame Luke for the ears. Ten fingers and ten toes, I've counted three times to make sure. The doctor said he's long for a newborn, so maybe he'll have my height? I mean, I don't know how the doctor calls anyone that small "long." He's tiny. And yet…I don't know how he was inside your belly yesterday. When I look at your little frame, it seems impossible that something so huge was in it.

Remember when I got the new control grid for the Falcon, and you teased me because I lovingly kept running my hands over it? I can't stop doing that with Ben now. He's so fragile, and I don't want to break him or anything, but I can't stop touching him. I was caressing his little hand a little while ago, and he squeezed my finger. He just held my finger tight and looked right into my eyes. I explained to him that I'm his daddy, but I think he's got it all figured out already. He seems very smart, for a baby. He's got an intelligent look to him, anyway.

I know you assured me a thousand times that as soon as he was born, I'd love him instinctively, but I really wasn't so sure until today. You were right, though. No doubt. Ben squeezed my finger and looked at me and I am absolutely sure I would do anything in this galaxy for him. Anything he needs, anything at all. I would die for him. I feel so fiercely protective of Ben, I almost blasted a doctor's head off when she walked into the room unannounced. (I didn't shoot—I'm not _that_ tired. 18 hours of labor isn't long enough to make me lose my entire mind.)

This is the part that I really wanted to tell you: I know we both had insecurities about becoming parents, but now I'm almost positive that those fears, those insecurities we had, are crazy. My biggest fear was that I wouldn't feel the kind of automatic, taken-for-granted love a good parent is supposed to feel; that's already been totally disproven. I love Ben as much as I love you, which is really saying something, especially since I just met the little guy. By the time he's walking and talking, I can't even imagine how much I'll adore him.

My second fear is that I won't be a very good father. It's not like I had any kind of role model, unlike you. You had the wise, loving, sensible, devoted parents. The only thing I remember clearly about my father is the smell of brandy on his breath, and his heavy footsteps when he was drunk and angry enough to hit my mother. Not the greatest legacy, you know. But now that I see Ben in front of me, I'm thinking I'll be able to handle the whole parenting thing. That's why babies grow real slowly, to give the parents time to figure things out gradually. At least, that's what I'm hoping. And when I do make mistakes, I'm sure you'll fix them. Ben will have lots of people to look out for him, me and you, of course, but also Chewie and Luke, who are already fighting over who gets to hold the baby, and even people like General Rieekan and Mon Mothma. (By the way, Chewie is calling him "The Cub." Hope Ben doesn't get offended by that one. When he's a teenager, I'm sure he will be.)

Back to fears. I don't think your fears are going to amount to much, either. I know you were afraid of even attempting this whole baby thing, given your bloodline and all, and I'm everlastingly grateful for you for changing your mind, for letting me talk you into this. I think I was right all along, though. When you look into his innocent little eyes, you'll know. There's no way this baby could grow into anyone but a sweet, strong, honorable man. Even if he's just like you—hell, _especially_ if he's just like you, Leia—he'll be nothing but good. Like you, whose core is just solid gold. And like Luke, who's the gentlest soul I've ever known. Whatever evil existed in your father, it didn't get passed down to you twins; it just died with him. This little guy is part of a new generation, born in peacetime. He won't grow up with Sith lords or the Empire or any war at all.

I know you've had nightmares about Ben's birth, and you were right about that—that labor was pretty terrible. You scared all nine Corellian hells out of me. And if you don't want to go through childbirth again, I'd understand. But those nightmares were just about his birth; they're not some kind of Force-omen of his future. The hard part is over. He's fine now, and we'll be fine as a family.

I can't wait for you to wake up, so I can tell you all this. Also, I have a mad desire to kiss you. Lucky for me, Ben's just waking up, so I'll get to cuddle him, at least. Kissing him isn't nearly as good as kissing you. Smaller surface area, and he doesn't kiss me back. But he's warm and soft and smells very sweet, so that's something.

Yeah, he's awake now. And crying. I'm going to work this problem now.

I love you completely, relentlessly and eternally.

Han


	5. Coruscanti bank to Leia, 5 ABY

_**After World War II, survivors of the Holocaust had to fight banks throughout Europe to get access to their accounts which had been frozen or confiscated by the Nazis. Banks demanded proof of identity that no Holocaust victims had, like passports or their relatives' death certificates (which were clearly**_ **not** _ **issued at places like Auschwitz).**_

 _ **Swiss banks reluctantly released those monies to the survivors only in the year 2000—55 years after the war ended. It made me wonder how an Alderaanian might get access to her bank accounts after the Galactic Civil War ended.**_

* * *

 _CORUSCANTI FINANCIAL INVESTMENTS_

Senate District Branch, Imperial City

RE: House Organa Accounts

To Princess Senator Organa:

Thank you for your recent inquiry into your family's savings accounts. I will be happy to help you. We have four separate accounts at this branch belonging to the Organa family, with three of the four being somewhat more complicated than the remaining one.

The first account, number TESB1980MTFBWU, was established 88 years ago and is under the name "House Organa of Alderaan," so any member of this House may withdraw funds. It currently contains 565,975 credits. To access this account, please just bring a government-issued identification bearing your retinal scan and/or DNA to our location. Your birth certificate or interstellar travel documents would be the easiest to find; if you have misplaced these documents, please consult the government center or municipal office in your hometown. They can make you a certified copy.

A second account was opened seven years ago as a joint checking account under the names Bail Organa (Senator) and Mon Mothma (Senator). This account contained 785,560.00 credits. There is, however, a complication, since this account was frozen by Emperor Palpatine _personally_ , and the monies in the account were seized by the Imperial Office of the Treasury. The process by which such a confiscation of assets can be undone is unclear to me at the present time. You must understand, the downfall of the Empire has caused many complications for the banking industry. But I'm confident that the laws pertaining to this lost sum will be untangled within a few years. Since Senator Mon Mothma is still alive, I suggest you speak with her, as her claim to the monies supersedes yours.

The other two accounts under the name Organa were opened by Senator Bail Organa and Queen Breha Organa eleven years ago. Your parents, I presume? These are interest-bearing savings accounts, numbers TESB1983ROTJ and TESB1983ROTK. I am pleased to inform you that these accounts have been quite robustly growing due to our Bank's good management and now contain approximately 427,300 credits. In order for you to access these two accounts, you just need to complete three easy steps:

a. Show proof of your identity, as I outlined above re. the first account

b. Show proof of your parents' death

c. Provide a notarized will or letter, showing you as the legitimate heir to their estate; or, in case no will was ever drafted, legal and notarized documentation from your homeworld indicating the chain of succession in case of a parent's passing.

Proof of your parents' death can come in many forms: a coroner's report, a funeral home's certification, a mausoleum's report, an official obituary in a governmental press release. Even a holovid or Holonet video of the corpse is acceptable (if taken by an officer of the court or the press).

I hope I have explained all the requirements sufficiently. I look forward to meeting you in person on Coruscant. Congratulations on winning the war. I wish you a very pleasant day.

Your partner in banking in the galaxy's capital,

Norbert D. Arsch

* * *

 _CORUSCANTI FINANCIAL INVESTMENTS_

Senate District Branch, Imperial City

RE: House Organa Accounts

To Princess Senator Organa and General Solo:

I am truly sorry for the misunderstanding. I didn't realize your homeworld's governmental offices had been so badly damaged, or, as you put it, "pulverized into ash."

There is no need for foul or unpleasant language, however, General.

I'm sure we can find some sort of compromise. But Your Highness must understand our Bank's position; we cannot bend the rules for anyone, in order to properly ensure _everyone_ 's financial security. We would not want ruffians showing up willy-nilly to claim some Alderaanian fortune without any sort of legal proof nor proper documentation.

When Princess Organa left the Planet Alderaan, she must have taken some identification with her, no? She surely traveled with interstellar documents or a passport. I'm afraid that holovids are insufficient to prove Princess Organa's identity, since she might just _resemble_ the actual Princess of Alderaan. The bank really will need an official retinal scan or DNA match to pre-existing records. Or, if Her Highness has a sample of her parents' DNA, perhaps we can do a familial match and prove parentage that way. Does she not have her parents' hairbrush, toothbrush, or even a flimsi that one of her parents touched?

As for the difficulty in proving Queen and Senator Organa's deaths, this is easily remedied. Simply find some proof that they were indeed in the city of Aldera when it was destroyed. Perhaps someone snapped a holovid of them, or they sent some correspondence on the day they passed? Another option would be finding some record of their funeral—I'm sure you did hold a funeral for them. I would assume a planet would organize quite a large spectacle for their late Queen.

Until Princess Senator Organa can definitively prove her identity and the certain death of her parents, I'm afraid it will impossible to release any monies in these accounts to Her Highness.

But don't worry, we will find a solution to these temporary problems together. I wish you a very pleasant day.

Your partner in banking in the galaxy's capital,

Norbert D. Arsch

* * *

 _CORUSCANTI FINANCIAL INVESTMENTS_

Senate District Branch, Imperial City

RE: House Organa Accounts

To Princess Senator Organa and General Solo:

My name is Alicia Anders and I am the manager of this branch of CFI. I apologize for any perceived lack of compassion from my colleague Mr. Arsch. I will be handling your highly particular case from now on.

I'm afraid Mr. Arsch did not understand the unique situation of the erstwhile Planet Alderaan. On behalf of my Bank, let me first offer my condolences on the loss of your homeworld and family.

As you pointed out in your last letter, Alderaanian documents are impossible to procure nowadays. I tried contacting your embassy here on Coruscant, but I'm sorry to say that the Alderaanian embassies (galaxy-wide, it would seem) were officially closed at The Emperor's command three years ago. There were probably electronic copies of the records we're looking for, but I don't know where they have gone now that the embassy is closed.

I therefore took it upon myself to try a different, unorthodox approach. I hope it will be acceptable to you. The Galactic Museum (formerly known as the Imperial Museum) located in CoCo Town has a collection entitled "Crown Jewels from the Galaxy's Aristocracies." There are some jewels, crowns and tiaras belonging to House Organa. I sent these off to the DNA lab to be processed for fingerprints and residual DNA (from oil found on handprints). We can check these prints against yours when you next visit Coruscant. I am hopeful that this will provide positive proof of Your Highness's identity—who else would have touched the crown?—as well as establish hereditary links with your parents. The DNA search should be completed within a few weeks.

I trust that this will be a satisfactory solution to this unfortunate quagmire.

By the way, those jewels and crowns probably belong to you. You might want to contact the Galactic Museum about that matter.

While we wait for the DNA scan, please feel free to contact me with any questions. I am here to help.

Your partner in banking in the galaxy's capital,

Alicia Anders

* * *

 _ **I'm thinking poor Leia threw up her hands in exasperation after that, and gave up. Nobody knew she was adopted.**_

 _ **Maybe she got those tiaras back, though.**_


	6. Han to Leia, 31 ABY

_**This chapter starts off in narrative form; the letter comes at the end. I just felt this particular letter needed to be set up in context.**_

 **Hanna City, Chandrila, 31 ABY**

The rain was pelting Han Solo. Up and down the street, people and squalls were racing for cover from the sudden downpour. Han ducked into the first shop he saw, a jewelry store with an inviting display window.

"Greet the day, sir!" called a friendly voice from the back of the shop.

Without thinking, Han replied in kind, "Though it be cold and rainy."

Han wiped his feet and shook the rain out of his gray hair as best he could. Looking around, he locked eyes with the shop owner, who had now come out from the backroom and was staring at Solo with an unreadable expression. Surprise? Respect? Wonder? _Is business that bad here,_ Han thought sardonically, _that he's astounded when a customer comes in?_ "I'd be grateful if I could wait in here until the storm's over," Han added.

The elderly jeweler realized he was staring, broke eye contact, and moved gracefully behind the counter. "Of course, of course. You look soaked. May I make you a cup of tea? Chandrila has excellent teas." Without waiting for an answer, he busied himself with a kettle.

"Yeah, tea would be nice, thank you," Han murmured. He noticed a small flag hanging on the wall behind the counter. A blue and green flag, with an upside down triangle in the center. "You're Alderaanian?" Han guessed abruptly.

The man smiled at him calmly. "Did you figure that out by the flag, or by my greeting?"

"The flag," Han admitted. "But now that I think about it, 'greet the day' is Alderaanian too, isn't it? Haven't heard that phrase in...well, in a long time."

 _Since Leia,_ Han mused. 'Greet the day' was a formal form of greeting on Alderaan; you were supposed to answer with 'For it be beautiful' or some other positive adjective, or else say 'Though it be…' if something negative came after it. Leia had explained—one day, a lifetime ago—that it was a way of starting a conversation between strangers, using the weather as an impetus. Every culture makes small talk about weather.

She used the phrase on him occasionally. Usually to greet the night….

"Well," the jeweler said, interrupting Han's train of thought, "You still remember the correct response." He poured boiling water over the tea, and offered Han the warm mug.

Han let its warmth creep into his hands. "My wife is from Alderaan."

The jeweler smirked. "Yes, General, I know that." He sounded cheeky, almost patronizing. _Any more sarcasm, and you'd sound just like that_ other _Alderaanian I know,_ Han thought.

"I'd like to show you something," the man continued, beckoning Han through a door from the showroom to the workspace.

The back room had a long counter with lumps of metal, obviously works in progress, as well as metal-cutters and various gemstones. But the room was dominated by a huge rock, several meters long and high.

"Is that…an asteroid?" Han asked.

"That's one word for it," the jeweler replied. "It's a piece of my homeworld. Every so often, I pay a smuggler to bring me a boulder like this from the asteroid belt, and I extract various metals from the rock to make jewelry for Alderaanians. For the survivors. It's comforting for them to have a small fragment of home. The parts I don't use go back to the asteroid belt."

Han moved to the counter to examine some of the pieces of jewelry. "What a beautiful idea," he said quietly. _I don't care how much it costs. I'm doing some shopping here._

The jeweler handed Han a small box containing a pair of earrings, uniquely shaped and heavy. "I've just finished these. 75% pure gold, about 25% titanium and iron alloys." The metalsmith smiled, proud of his design. "The outer layer of gold makes the piece beautiful, but the core is as unbreakable as any steel. Like our Princess."

Han looked up from the earrings and into the eyes of the older man. "Like our Princess," he repeated earnestly. "Name your price."

The Alderaanian's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Oh, no, General Solo," he protested. "I'd never sell to you. These are a gift. Please give my warmest regards and my sincerest admiration to Her Highness."

* * *

Ten minutes later, the tea was drunk, the rain had stopped, and Han had a new mission. The earrings were in a delicate green velvet box with a small flimsi card tucked into the ribbon, explaining the jewelry's origin.

The main spaceport of Hanna City was bustling with activity. It didn't take Han too long to find what he was looking for: an X-Wing with blue matte markings. A pilot in orange fatigues was readying the ship for take-off.

"Hi, Lieutenant," Han greeted, noting the bars on her helmet. "Nice T-70. Blue squadron—that's Poe Dameron's group, isn't it?"

The pilot looked Han over, trying to place him. "Yes, it's Commander Dameron's squadron," she answered cautiously. "I'm Jessika Pava, sir. It's nice to meet you."

Han shook her proffered hand. "Han Solo. Nice to meet you, too." Now she recognized him. Her jaw dropped. Han continued quietly, "I've got a mission for you, Lieutenant. Are you heading back to Hosnian Prime now?"

Pava hesitated. "Maybe."

"Or maybe," Han whispered, leaning in close, "D'Qar?"

She blinked, then nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Great," he said, removing the velvet box from his jacket. "I need you to deliver this to General Organa for me. Within the week. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir," she answered immediately, before inspecting the box. "A ring?" she guessed.

Solo gave her a crooked grin. "Earrings. Sweetest Day is next week."

Pava grinned back. "Ah. I'm sure the General will appreciate the gift, sir. I'll be ready to go in an hour or so; I have to do a pre-flight check and get some lunch before I go."

"Good. That gives me some time to write a letter." Han looked around, considering the spaceport's café offerings. "I'll be back in an hour."

* * *

Hi, sweetheart,

I found an Alderaanian jeweler on Chandrila who makes these pieces out of metals he extracts from the Asteroid Belt. He wrote you a card with all the details. But I knew you'd like his stuff, so I'm sending you a piece. Just a token. Before I forget: I'm supposed to pass on the jeweler's "warmest regards and sincere admiration" to you.

I'm not exactly sure which emotions I should be passing on to you, though. Warmth and admiration sound like a good start. I couldn't admire anyone more than I do you. The Resistance you've created, the Republic before that…hell, your whole life you've been giving yourself to the galaxy. That old Alderaanian is proof enough of that; he's full of respect for you and he doesn't even know you. Your heart is pure gold, with that unbelievably strong core. Your generosity, your unselfishness, your strength, it's humbling. I'm in awe of you.

I'm still out here flying around, smuggling or trading. Of course, I'm still looking for our daughter and haven't given up hope that I'll be able to bring her back to you someday. One of the smugglers or slavers out here must know something. And I know you won't be whole until she's found, just like I still have this Breha-shaped hole in my heart. I wish I could give you back our little boy, too, but…he'll have to find his own way back to us.

I know I've apologized to you, over and over, for how I left. But it still seems insufficient. I feel like there are so many things left unsaid between us. I'm sitting here in a tapcafe, trying to come up with the right words, to un-say all those hateful things I said. In anger, in pain. I didn't mean any of it. The anger wasn't meant for you. I know you know that. You're the only one who's ever known me at all.

I still wake up every single morning in surprise and confusion that you're not next to me.

I love you. I miss you, so much sometimes that it paralyzes me. I cherish the memory of every minute we spent together. I'm not coming back to you until I find our baby girl, but when I do, I'll never leave your side again.

In the meantime, happy Sweetest Day.

All yours,

Han


	7. Ben to Han and Leia, 20 ABY

Dear Mom & Dad,

You said that I'd grow to like Jedi training, that I'd appreciate it after I'd gotten good at manipulating the Force, and that I'd make friends here. Well, none of that has come true and so I want to come home. I pretty much hate Yavin IV.

Uncle Luke is a great teacher, but I preferred him when he was just my uncle. The other kids training here assumed at first that Uncle Luke would favor me, so he went out of his way to prove them wrong and ended up treating me much more harshly than everyone else gets handled. Not that he's mean or anything, just…very tough. 'No special favors' also means he doesn't spend any extra time with me just talking or joking around like he used to. I actually miss my uncle. I used to really lean on him, and now he's just my Jedi master, nothing more. It's not like I have a lot of other relatives to talk to. I have befriended one old man here—not anyone working with Uncle Luke, but a nice old man who's full of good advice. But he doesn't even live on Yavin; he just talks to me via hologram. So I could still hear from him if I were back home.

The padawans that Luke's teaching are okay, but I don't have any _real_ friends here at all. It's the same problem I had back home; nobody has any idea what my life has been like, and they don't get me at all. Either they're scared of me (or my Jedi powers) or they're just intimidated by our family. Most of them are just kids, younger than I am. Or they're my age but we have nothing in common. I'm not going to join in the little kids' games of tag, and I don't want to play dice or card games with the other teenagers. So it's pretty lonely around here. Oh, thanks for the holonovels—I needed them. It is so boring in this damn jungle. I'd rather do anything else, I'm so bored. I'd even help Dad fix the Falcon's hyperdrive or sit through an eight-hour economic summit with Mom.

I do understand why you sent me away from Hosnian Prime, away from the government and all of those terrorist groups. I'm your only child now, and believe me, I do feel the weight of that responsibility. I think, though, that I'm too old to kidnap. I'm almost fifteen. Nobody's going to try that with me. Even if they did, with the lightsaber training I've already received as well as Dad's lessons on shooting blasters, I think I can defend myself well enough. Besides, there's always Chewie around to protect me, right? I would be quite safe on Hosnian. So let me come home.

I hope you two are doing well, and that you've stopped fighting with each other. I know your relationship is none of my business, but if I could offer an opinion, I've been thinking a lot about you. (There's really not much else to do here, have I mentioned that?) You can't blame each other for what happened to my siblings. That just wasn't your fault. You weren't even home when it happened…and don't blame yourselves for that fact, too! It's not like you could keep us all locked in an apartment for our entire childhoods. I know you're mad at whichever anti-government group was responsible for the abduction—and you have a right to be—but you're misdirecting your anger if you're aiming it at each other. If I were back home, I could help you two talk things through. I'm good at the diplomacy stuff, you know. I feel like I'm letting you down by not being there to help you.

Why don't you two take all that passionate anger you've got and channel it into something more productive, like finding Breha? Why don't we just take the Falcon and go hunting for her? It seems more important than me sitting around in a jungle, sensing lizards' thoughts and lifting rocks with my mind. Let's go _do_ something.

I miss you. I miss Dad's cooking and him screaming at his malfunctioning ship and his jokes. And Dad, you promised you'd let me taste Corellian brandy, and I still haven't. (There definitely is no brandy on Yavin IV…otherwise, trust me, I'd have drunk it all by now.) I miss my evening chats with Mom, the way she always puts everything in perspective for me. I miss just being with you two at home, hanging out. It was comfortable, and friendly, and so much warmer than here. So please, let me come home and we can be a family again.

Love,

Ben

PS: Please say hi to Chewie for me. And tell him I love his vid chats.


	8. Luke to Leia, 30 ABY

**30 ABY**

Hello, my dearest twin.

I can't come back. I know you want me to, I've felt you reaching out to me, pleading, begging me to come back. I cannot. I can't do any more damage. I need isolation for a while. Please, please understand. I'm writing to you to try to explain.

I feel you calling to me. As you certainly suspect by my mixed reactions, I can't decide what to do with your pleas. Whether it's best to shut down the connection between us completely, to shut you out for your own good; or whether I should stretch my feelings back at you, and send you my love, my warmth and sympathy and allegiance and even pity. I don't know which would be easier on you, honestly. So I vacillate between those two. I know I'm hurting you, no matter what I do. There is no course of action I can take anymore that won't hurt you.

And so I've chosen isolation. And I know that saddens you. Probably enrages you.

Do you know how many hundreds of visions I've had of you throughout my life? You at nineteen, lithe and fiery and impatient. You as an older woman, bent over in pain and sorrow and age and maybe joy. And every age in between those. Visions of the past or future, and some I'm not really sure which. Some come true, some don't. I've had so many visions of alternate timelines. Sometimes you have children, sometimes just one; sometimes the children die or turn dark, and leave you wracked with grief, breathless, weightless. Sometimes they flourish and bring you more joy than you'd ever dared to hope for. Usually in my visions, Han is at your side, strong and steady; I don't know why he's been gone for so long. This isn't the way it's supposed to be. I think the Force would prefer you two together. You should let him come home, or go find him and bring him back. You should cling to each other, especially when the winds try to topple you.

I know your future—all the possible futures. Does that make you hate me? I can see what might happen and what will certainly happen, but I can't stop it. I'm not sure whether telling you would change events or cause them to come true. You've known this about me for decades, Leia, _you know this._ We talked about this as far back as Tatooine, remember? I knew we'd rescue Han from Jabba the Hutt, I knew he'd survive. But you said you didn't want me to tell you anything more about your future, so I never have.

And yet the last time we spoke, you accused me. Blamed me for Ben's fall. And at the time, I thought: yes. It is my fault. Better to blame me than anyone else. "You should have told me years ago, if you knew," you said. Really? Should I have? Would you like to know all the things I knew and never told you? Here's a list for you.

I knew your heart would always belong to Han Solo. No one else, ever. Even Obi-Wan recognized that, when he and Han met in the cantina in Mos Eisley.

I knew before Ben was conceived that if you had a firstborn son, he might turn to the Dark Side. Or maybe he'd be a wise and benevolent leader. Or maybe both, at different ages.

I knew that if you had a firstborn daughter, she'd be a great pilot and reluctant warrior and you'd name her Jaina. And sweet Jaina would have to kill her twin.

I knew you'd live a long life. You wouldn't die fighting in the Rebel Alliance.

I knew that if you had a son named Anakin, he would die young, and that the pain of that loss would ravage you and Han.

I knew the peace of the New Republic wouldn't last, that we'd be at war again.

I knew Han would leave you, and that loss would leave a gaping wound in your soul. As I knew _I_ would leave you.

I knew that if a race of disfigured monsters invaded our galaxy, our family would be destroyed. Your son would kill my wife…the wife I don't even have in this timeline. (I avoided all that heartbreak—but also the joy.)

I knew you were going to suffer in ways you'd never imagined. That you'd crave death. That you'd tell Han and Ben horrible things in anger, things that you'd always regret. That you'd be crippled by guilt.

I knew that if Ben trained with me, I'd certainly fail him.

But I knew that if he didn't—if he trained himself or let someone else do it—it would be even worse.

And what would you have liked me to do with all of that knowledge, Leia? Should I have told you? Let's go back to your wedding day, with you looking every inch the princess, eyes sparkling with hope and love. Remember how I teased you that day that your whole body kept facing Han's, no matter where he was, like a moon orbiting her planet? Should I, on that day, have I sat you two down and told you all the horrible possibilities I foresaw? Maybe you would have decided not to risk the potential pain, and just stay (pardon the pun here) solo. Would you have preferred that? Is that why you're mad at me now?

You know, there are plenty of beautiful things I foresaw, too. I just listed some of the worst ones, but I've had plenty of visions of you happy. I knew, for instance, that Han would be that part of your soul you never knew you were missing. That you would complete each other. That your children would bring you unbelievable happiness, at least for a while. Did you really want me to deny you all that?

I admit, part of me wanted to. Just grab you and pull you away from Han, away from me, away from everything that might someday break your heart. But you would never have accepted that sort of protection, Leia, and you shouldn't. Life has to be lived, pain and all.

And I'm glad that you've lived life to the fullest.

But—to return now to the beginning of this letter—I cannot. Not right now.

Please trust me when I tell you my presence would not help matters with Ben. I've damaged him enough. So I'm going to stay away for a while, even though I know my absence hurts you. Leia, I know…I know things will get worse for you before they get better, and you'll need me, and I won't be there for you. I'm sorry, in advance. I'm so sorry for everything. My heart breaks for you, for all of us.

I'll see you again. I know that one, too.

All my love,

Luke


	9. Han to Leia, 4 ABY

**4 ABY**

Good morning, gorgeous! Gotta go to a meeting on the bridge. I'll be back with breakfast. Stay in bed, don't get dressed.

You are perfect. Last night was perfect, too.

Completely & utterly yours,

H

* * *

Hi again, sweetheart,

Admiral Ackbar commed me at 6.30—can you believe that?—to go over some last-minute changes to the crew and more useless information that I could've figured out by myself. So that's where I went. Remember last week, when you asked me if I regretted joining the Alliance officially, and I said no? Now the answer's yes. I changed my mind at 6.30 this morning. You were so warm and beautiful all curled up around me, I nearly resigned my commission over the comlink, just to stay in bed with you.

I thought I'd get a chance to say goodbye to you, but we went straight from that damned meeting to the hanger and now I'm in hyperspace, heading for 'classified target #1.' I'm so sorry I didn't get to talk to you. Hope you're not still naked in bed, waiting for me to bring you breakfast. Although that is an intriguing image…oh, that's a very intriguing image. Great. I'm never going to be able to concentrate on ship formations and supply orders and all the other stuff I'm supposed to be taking care of right now.

I can't believe I didn't get to say goodbye to you. I can't believe I won't be back for eight weeks. I'm gonna wither away without you.

Okay, enough griping. I really am taking my responsibilities as a general seriously. This cruiser is full of kids who are so wet behind the ears, I don't know how or why we let them into the Alliance. Republic. Whatever we are now. But they look at me like they think I know what I'm doing, like I'm some great hero, so I'm going to focus on living up to their expectations. You think I can do this, so I guess I can.

I'd still rather be thinking about you, though. I already miss you. But don't let it go to your head.

I'm smirking at you.

Han

* * *

Hi Leia,

I got a priority message from Coruscant—I take it three weeks is as long as you can go without missing me enough to send me "priority" interstellar messages?

I wish I'd been able to take your call, but these Moffs don't seem to get the idea that the war's over, and we're having a hell of a time cleaning them up. Anyway, I was in a battle for the last day and a half, out of com range.

There was no video from you attached, just a written communique that I was supposed to contact you. So here I am. Waiting by the monitor for you, darling.

Love you.

Han

* * *

Dear Leia,

I'm sorry I was so…I don't know, idiotic…on the com today. I was shocked, worse than I think I've ever been shocked, so I reacted badly. Now that I've had a few hours to think and calm down, I wanted to talk to you again. But now we're on audio silence (heading to 'classified target #3'), so a written letter will have to do.

First, a couple of apologies.

I didn't mean to use the word "fault." It's nobody's fault that we're pregnant. You were right to blow up at me for that word. I was as wrong as I could've been.

Second apology, you were right when you said I wasn't happy when you told me. I felt a whole bunch of stuff, but "happy" wasn't exactly part of it. I'm sorry I didn't react more positively. The more I think about it, though, the happier I am. And why the hell shouldn't we be happy? This is kind of miraculous. I still haven't completely gotten over the fact of _you_ yet, so when I see our baby, I think I'm going to have some kind of breakdown. You might actually see me cry.

Third apology, I didn't tell you on vid that I loved you. I know you know, but I should've said it. More than once. I love you and I'm awed that we somehow created a life together.

This baby is going to knock the galaxy off its axis. At least, _my_ galaxy. I mean, if this child is _half_ as stubborn as you or me, we're gonna have a serious 7-year-long headache when the kid becomes a teenager. The more I think about the combined strength of our personalities, the more I think we might be creating a hurricane on legs. It's called karma, I think; you drove your parents nuts when you were little, so you're going to get it back twofold. The thought of a little miniature version of you, stomping her foot at me when I tell her to put her toys away, it cracks me up. I really hope the baby looks like you.

I told Chewie. I hope you don't mind. After I got off the com with you, I stared at the blank monitor for a while, then went to the mess for a drink. Three drinks, actually. Then Chewie came in, so I told him. It's a secret for a while still, I know, but the Wookiee's not telling no one. He, incidentally, thinks it's great. Big hug for you, congratulations, etc. When I told him we'd ended up fighting about it, he hit me twice on your behalf. He doesn't get my hesitation at all. If it were up to him, we'd have been married a long time ago and be on our second or third kid by now. (I don't think he quite gets human gestation periods. But we'll let that go.)

My hesitation…I couldn't tell you before. I'm not really sure why I'm so scared, but I got some ideas. First, I really don't know how good a dad I can be. I never knew my father, never had any kind of good example of what a father is supposed to do. I know that I'm going to make a lot of mistakes, and that it's gonna drive you crazy. Also, I can't imagine myself in one place for the next 20 years. I love being around you, and want nothing more than to be wherever you are, but you don't stay in the same spot for long—at least, you haven't since we met. Maybe now that the war's over, you'll just stay on Coruscant and build a government, but I figure we'll still see plenty of action. How are we going to, you know, run around saving the galaxy while we have a toddler? And will I _want_ to stay home changing diapers, or will I want to be out on the Falcon somewhere?

You know what doesn't worry me, though? The Jedi thing. If the baby's got some Jedi ability, we'll just deal with that. Luke turned out just fine. As sweet as can be. Just think of Luke if you get worried about, you know, the bloodline stuff. You know that's a non-issue for me. But I get why it's scaring you.

What I didn't tell you on the com today is this: I have doubts about my ability to take care of a baby, but _I don't doubt you_. Not your ability to run a government and parent at the same time, not your mothering instincts, not my love for you. I am absolutely sure you can do this. You'll be a great mom. As long as the kid looks, thinks and acts like you, we'll be fine. (Except when he or she's a teenager. We're doomed then.)

When you tell Mon Mothma and all those stuffy generals, they're going to hit the roof. Don't let them bully you. If they tell you I won't stick around, that I'll abandon the baby and go back to smuggling or whatever, tell them to shove it; I ain't going nowhere. If they tell you that the people won't support you as a senator if you have a baby without being married, tell them to get into this century. And the people love you. You could run for Chancellor of the Republic and win. If they tell you I'm not a suitable husband or good father material, well, they're probably right about that one. But for some reason, you see something in me that I don't. Something noble and dependable. So I'm just going to trust in your faith in me, and try hard to be the man you think I am.

I don't know if I'll be any good at this parenthood deal. But if you really think I can do it, and you want to do it, I'm in. Bring it on.

Just give me another seven months or so to get ready.

I love you completely and unflaggingly.

Han

PS: Marry me?

(That isn't an actual proposal. I just want you to think it over until I'm back with you. 5 weeks, 1 day to go.)


	10. Han to Leia, 33 ABY, after finding Rey

33 ABY

 _En route to Takodana_

* * *

 **CLASSIFIED**

TO BE DELIVERED TO & DECYCRPTED BY GENERAL ORGANA ONLY

Dear Leia,

Hi, sweetheart. I really wanted to tell you this in person, but the _Falcon_ is probably being tracked right now and I want to keep radio silence. So an old-fashioned subspace message is gonna have to do. Sorry it's not in person.

Sit down, please.

You sitting? Don't be stubborn. Just take my advice this one time and sit down. And then scroll down to the next page of this message. _After you sit down._ And get to a quiet spot. And switch off Threepio. And don't tell me I'm being bossy.

* * *

Leia, I found her. Our daughter.

I found Breha, and she's all right. She's fine. She's terrific, in fact.

You know how I ran into her? She stole the _Falcon_ from some thief on Jakku, and I tracked the ship right to her. Of all the ships to steal, she picked mine, if you can believe that. So I've got her, and I'm bringing her home to you. But the First Order is looking for this little droid Breha's got with her, and they probably figured out the droid's on board the _Falcon_ , so I'm stopping at Maz's on Takodana to switch to a clean ship. You remember Maz Kanata, don't you?

Yeah, anyway, back to Breha.

She calls herself Rey now. Remember how the boys used to call her that, cause Ani couldn't pronounce the "BR"? I'd totally forgotten that nickname. Like she's forgotten her real name. She doesn't remember much of anything from her childhood, actually, except Shyriiwook and the fact that her family loved her. She knows she was snatched away, and she's convinced her parents will come find her someday. I didn't tell her that today was 'someday.' I'm waiting for a quieter moment; so far, we've been attacked by pirate gangs and chased around by rathtars…pretty much what you'd expect as a typical afternoon outing for our family, I guess.

Part of the reason I'm heading to Maz is to get her take on Rey. If she's Force sensitive, Maz will know it. And that'll be proof that she's ours. Not that I need much proof. She looks like she did when she was little, just, you know, bigger now. She's nineteen. Same age _you_ were when I met you…a million years ago. She acts like you, Leia. She's strong-willed and independent and tough, but she's also got a really sweet, generous heart. Oh, she's your daughter, all right. Rey knows ships, too—that part of her is like me. I mean, things've been breaking on the _Falcon_ the whole trip, and she can figure out how to fix everything faster than even I can. She's very, very smart. She's...the perfect combination of the two of us. It's unbelievable, Leia. I looked over at Chewie at one point, and we just shook our heads at each other without a word. She's just…beautiful.

I can't believe I found her, after all these years of searching the dregs of society. I always figured she'd end up in the slave trade or in smuggling, you know, something in the underworld. She didn't. Nothing real bad ever happened to her. So I guess I'm finally gonna have to start trusting in the Force a lot more than I used to. (I can already see Luke rolling his eyes at me, with a big dramatic sigh and "I told you so." I'll never live it down. He's gonna tease me forever.)

Leia, when I left, I told you I wouldn't be back until I'd found our daughter. I wasn't running away from you, I was just running towards her. Maybe you didn't believe that then, after that last fight we'd had. I'm sorry for what I said that day. For all of it. I've apologized before, but it doesn't really count if it's just via subspace. I'll apologize better when I see you. Maybe finally having Rey back will help heal whatever rift we still have between us, so we can be a family again. That's what I want, anyway. What I hope. I haven't wanted anything in a long time, but I want that. We just need to put all the bad memories on one datacard, then delete those files and start over new. With our daughter. That Breha-shaped hole in both of our hearts can finally be filled in, so that maybe we can be whole again.

Please come to Takodana, if you can. Otherwise, I'll bring Breha home to you in a few days.

I love you.

Han


End file.
